


i'll be your shelter

by mercutionotromeo



Series: i'll cover you [2]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Age Play, Canon Compliant, Comfort, Daddy Kink, Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Fluff without Plot, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Non-Sexual Age Play, Sick Fic, Sick Harry, Sickfic, Thumb-sucking, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, this is just a fun take on what could've actually happened in Belfast
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-18
Updated: 2017-11-18
Packaged: 2019-02-03 20:06:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12755265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mercutionotromeo/pseuds/mercutionotromeo
Summary: Louis wishes more than anything that he could be with him, taking care of Harry and making him feel better.“Gonna make it through today, d’you think?” Louis asks, worriedly chewing on his bottom lip.“Not really another choice, is there?” Harry shoots wryly back, but he dissolves into a fit of coughs a second later. “Sorry.”Louis makes a soothing sound. “Shh, shh. ‘M sorry you feel so awful, sweetheart. Wish I was there to make it better.”A sad silence hangs in the static between them for a moment.“Me, too,” Harry says quietly.Also known as: a canon-compliant sickfic with lots of comforting, gentle fluff.





	i'll be your shelter

**Author's Note:**

> hello! already back with the second installment of this series! this is some sleepy-sweet fluff that I didn't think I would finish so quickly, but once I started wondering what really happened in Belfast two years ago, this fic happened, haha. Thanks so much for all of your lovely comments on the first installment of this series - it made my heart so happy that you all seem to enjoy reading this dynamic as much as I enjoy writing it! I don't write a lot of work that's rated E for Everyone, haha, but I think there'll probably be a mix of G and my usual rated work in this series. Anyway, long-winded intro aside - hope you enjoy this! let me know if you want me to keep going with this series, and if you have any requests you'd like to see me write, feel free to leave me a comment below!
> 
> title: I'll Cover You from Rent

Tour is long and grueling - that much is certain. The days go on forever, and sleep doesn’t last long enough; Louis wakes up every morning with exhaustion clawing at his bones. It’d be marginally easier to handle the workload if he had Harry wrapped in his arms, of course, but he falls asleep in an empty bed most nights. He knows it's the same for Harry; the dark circles under his eyes are as bad as Louis'. 

He still manages to briefly sneak away with Harry once every two weeks, like they always do, but they’ve been forced apart in public for weeks now. It’s so fucking obvious what they’re trying to hide - if fans weren’t already suspicious, the fact that they have to act like strangers around each other is enough to raise countless eyebrows.

The weeks drag on into months, and Louis is wearing thin. They’re just slogging through the second-to-last leg of the tour, but they’ve barely reached the halfway mark in  the number of shows. Their next scheduled bit of time off won’t be for another few weeks, which isn't coming nearly quick enough. They're in the trenches, hunkering down and forcing themselves to work as hard as physically possible. 

One morning in Belfast, Harry wakes up with a cold. Louis knows it’s bad because his good morning text is short and emoji-less. He calls him immediately, sat in his pajamas at the desk in his lonely hotel room.

“Baby,” He breathes when Harry finally picks up.

Harry sniffs a little. “Hey.”

Louis’ brow furrows in concern. “How are you feeling, love? Not good?” He pictures Harry shaking his head.

“Had a fever all night, Lou. It only just broke an hour ago. Now it’s the chills.” He makes a miserable noise. “I feel terrible.”

God - Louis wishes more than anything that he could be with him, taking care of him and making him feel better.

“Gonna make it through today, d’you think?” Louis asks, worriedly chewing on his bottom lip.

“Not really another choice, is there?” Harry shoots wryly back, but he dissolves into a fit of coughs a second later. “Sorry.”

Louis makes a soothing sound. “Shh, shh. ‘M sorry you feel so awful, sweetheart. Wish I was there to make it better.”

A sad silence hangs in the static between them for a moment.

“Me, too,” Harry says quietly. Suddenly, a loud banging sounds on Louis’ door - it's his PA calling for him to get dressed.

“See you out there, angel. Promise you’ll tell me if you can’t do the show tonight, yeah?”

Harry laughs a little, but it sounds pitiful. “Lou, I’ve told you a hundred times - you can’t call off the whole bloody show just because of a cold.”

“Oh, hush,” Louis teases. “Anything for my baby. Anything.”

“Bye, Lou,” Harry murmurs.

“Bye, baby. Love you,” Louis responds, heart breaking a little at the circumstances. “I mean it, by the way. If it gets to be too much, you just tell me. I promise I’ll make it better.”

“Kay,” Harry whispers, then the line goes dead.

* * *

Almost immediately, Louis can tell that this is more than just a mild cold - it's probably escalating into walking pneumonia, or something equally as bad. Harry shows up to their first radio interview bundled in a fuzzy sweater and a coat, but he’s sweating and down to a t-shirt by the end of it. His cheeks are all flushed, and he barely speaks unless he’s asked a question directly.

It only goes downhill from there; they have a meeting in the afternoon to assess the financial progress of the American leg of the tour, and Harry spends most of it curled up in a chair, barely able to participate when he’d usually be taking notes and asking informed questions. Louis desperately wants to pull him aside and soothe him a little, just to take some of the pressure off, but they’re whisked away to the venue before he has a chance.

The arena in Belfast is gigantic - it seats almost 20,000 people. They have to run through virtually the entire set during soundcheck to work out the technology kinks, and Harry races backstage the second they finish. Louis doesn’t even take the time to see if fans or minders are watching - he follows quickly after him, his protective instinct kicking into overdrive.

Just as he expected, Harry’s in his dressing room. When Louis walks in, he’s struggling out of his shirt, sweaty and red all over. Louis crosses quickly to him and stops his hands on the buttons.

“Let me.”

He undoes the line of buttons and helps him slide it off; Harry’s chest is all flushed, but he’s still shivering. Louis resists the overwhelming urge to pull him into his lap and cuddle him, and instead eases him over to the couch. Harry drops his head into his hands immediately, exhaling shakily.

“What’s wrong, baby?” Louis asks him quietly, and Harry sniffles a little.

“Feel so sick. I, like - I can’t even think. ‘M so hot.”

Louis raises a hand to his forehead; he's burning up. “Oh, love,” He murmurs. “Here, let me take care of it.”

Harry just moans pitifully, like he’s too sick to even string together full sentences at this point. It takes only a minute of rummaging through his backpack for Louis to find a bottle of paracetamol, and he shakes two of them into his palm, then grabs an ice-cold bottle of water from the cooler. Harry’s curled up in a ball in the corner of the sofa when Louis gets back to him.

“Sit up, love,” He says as he coaxes him gently to a seating position. Harry obediently opens his mouth and Louis drops the two tablets inside, then raises the bottle of water to his lips and helps him drink.

“That’s it, there we are. You’ll feel better soon, honey.” He rubs his back soothingly as Harry drops his head to his shoulder, nuzzling into his warmth.

“Thanks,” He mumbles, voice reedy and weak. Louis just wraps an arm around him and holds him closer. They get all of four minutes alone together when Liam’s face pops through the curtains.

“Hey,” He starts, voice kind and sympathetic. “I’m really sorry - they need us to sign posters or something.” He tips his head apologetically toward the stage, and Harry makes a miserable sound. Louis looks down at his feverish cheeks, then back up at Liam.

“Tell them we won’t make it.”

Liam doesn’t even protest or argue, just nods sympathetically. “Feel better, H.”

Louis coaxes Harry into his lap so that he can hold him properly, but they’re interrupted after only a few minutes by their tour manager carelessly flinging the curtains open.

“Where were you for the ten-minute call?” He demands, folding his arms. Louis sets his jaw and stares back at him.

“Here.”

“Okay,” Their manager starts, and his simpering tone is enough to make Louis want to punch him in his ugly face. “And why weren’t you getting mic-ed?”

Louis staunchly pulls Harry closer to his chest, his skin burning hot through the thin fabric of his t-shirt.

“Harry’s ill,” He says simply, and their manager just laughs.

“So? There’s twenty thousand people out there who all paid to be here tonight. What’re you gonna do, tell them you can’t perform?”

Louis glances at Harry again, who’s shivering in his arms despite his fever.

“Yeah.”

Their manager laughs again. “'Yeah'? And what do you mean by that?”

Louis stares him down, keeping his expression aloof and intimidating. “I mean “yeah, we’re going to tell twenty-thousand people we can’t perform”.” He shrugs, because this should be the easiest thing in the world to understand, but they’re stuck in a situation with people who treat them as practically subhuman. “Harry can’t go on, so none of us are going on.”

Their manager steps closer, and Louis bristles defensively, arms wrapping more securely around Harry.

“Don’t come closer.” He settles his voice lower, more menacing. “You don’t want to start this with me. That I can promise.”

Their tour manager raises his hands and steps back, but Louis can tell that he’s a little shaken.

“Okay, okay. Fine, whatever. Look - here’s a compromise - we’ll have an announcement that the concert will be delayed. How’s that?”

Louis shakes his head incredulously. “No, no, pal - I don’t think you get it. Harry’s not performing. None of us are performing.”

“Like hell you’re not,” Their manager scoffs as he starts toward the doorway. “Thirty minutes. I’ll give you thirty minutes.”

As soon as their manager is gone, Liam pokes his head back in, peeling an orange.

“Consider yourselves lucky that I can forge your signatures,” He starts, but stops when he sees Louis putting on his jacket and gathering their belongings.

“Where’re you going?”

Louis glances up at him, zipping his backpack. “Home. _My_ home.”

They've got a small house in Lisburn, a fairly short car journey from the arena, for visiting Niall's family when they're in Ireland. Honestly, Louis would rather die than hop back on a plane to return to the chaos of London - especially with an ill boyfriend. Lisburn, he's decided, is where they need to go.

Liam looks a little puzzled, but he catches on quickly. “Wait, like… You’re escaping? Like the old days?”

Louis nods, jaw set as he remembers all the times he and Harry used to ditch work obligations to escape - to the movies, to go shopping, to get a fancy dinner, but most often just to go back home and spend the day talking about everything and nothing.

“Well, you need an excuse, don’t you? Since no one is performing?” Liam asks, touching his chin thoughtfully.

Louis just shrugs. "Figured I'd cross that bridge when I get to it."

Liam grins wider. “I’ll come up with something, mate. Don’t you worry - Payno’ll pull through.” He pats Harry on the knee. “Don’t come back until you’re all better, Haz.”

Harry nods and gives him a small smile.

“Better go now, while everyone is still figuring out how to announce the delay.”

Louis helps Harry off the couch, then half-carries him to the doorway. “Thanks, Liam. I owe you.”

Liam scoffs and waves his hand dismissively. “You’d do it for any of us. I know you would.”

 

The journey to get to the car actually ends up going much more smoothly than anticipated. True to Liam’s word, the backstage area is all but cleared out. Most people seem to be at the front of house, dealing with damage control for the delay.

They’re almost to the back of the arena when their makeup artist gives them a puzzled look as they pass by the catering room. “Harry? You okay? Aren’t you both supposed to be at the stage now?”

Luckily, Niall swoops in out of nowhere from behind them and starts asking her questions about some new blotting powder she’s trying on him. He gives Louis a wink as he feigns interest in what she's saying, giving Harry and Louis a straight shot to the back entrance.

It’s barely 10, but the night sky is pitch-black; a cool breeze ruffles their hair, and Harry hums happily, arching into it. It probably feels amazing on his overheated skin.

“Down here,” Louis’ bodyguard calls from the Range Rover waiting near the darkened loading docks.

“Thanks, mate,” Louis shouts gratefully back as they make their slow descent down the concrete steps. A minute later, they’re safe in the backseat of the car; Harry’s got his head in Louis’ lap, and Louis just keeps tracing soothing patterns onto his upper back.

“Home, right?” Alfredo asks as he backs the Range Rover out of the arena. Louis stares out the window, guilt gnawing at the pit of his stomach for disappointing so many fans, but his baby will always be his top priority.

“Home.”

 

Louis doesn’t even wake Harry up once they’ve arrived safely to their house in Lisburn. Alfredo offers to help Louis get him in the front door, but Louis declines; his ability to carry Harry when he needs to is truly remarkable.

Backpack slung over his shoulder, he lifts Harry out of the backseat and helps him wrap his legs around his waist, head falling against the crook of his neck. He makes a beeline straight for their bedroom once they’re finally inside, not bothering to turn the lights on as they go.

He lays Harry gently down on the bed, and Harry finally stirs. He blinks groggily around him, registering where he is.

“Hm? We’re not --?”

Louis just rubs his hip soothingly. “Home, love. Lisburn. Haven’t been here in awhile, have we?”

Harry’s brow furrows. “But I thought - the concert?”

“Don’t worry, baby. Told you I’d make it better, hm?”

Harry doesn’t have the energy to press further tonight, it seems; he exhales what appears to be the greatest sigh of relief and melts back into the sheets.

“Gonna take care of  you, love. As long as you need.” Louis pets his hair for a bit, holding him close in the welcome silence of their bedroom, until Harry’s eyelids are drooping.

“Dada,” He mumbles sleepily as he turns onto his side, curling up. Louis feels his forehead, and the fever’s finally breaking.

“Feeling a little better, baby?” Louis whispers, and Harry nods. Louis smiles to himself, then reaches for his backpack at his feet. Buried at the bottom of it is Pup, the pink stuffed dog that he’d bought for Harry when they first started this.

He’s had it in his backpack for weeks, waiting until they were finally alone to be able to take it out. He helps Harry wrap his hands around Pup’s fuzzy body, and Harry makes a happy sound when he realizes what he’s holding.

“ _Pup_ ,” He breathes, staring in awe like he can’t believe his favorite toy has made it all the way around the world with him. He stares up at Louis, eyes wide and innocent. “Dada?”

Louis grins down at him, a lovely warmth filling his chest. “I brought her just for you, baby. We couldn’t have her getting lonely without you, could we?” He presses a messy kiss to Harry’s temple, and Harry giggles quietly.

“It tickles, Dada.” He wraps Pup tightly in his arms, then slides his thumb happily into his mouth. Louis just keeps rubbing his back with soft, gentle fingers, whispering soothing things to him until he’s almost certain he’s asleep.

He stands up then, planning to leave the bedroom so that he can listen to his voicemail messages - no doubt there’s plenty of angry people he has to answer to - but he feels Harry sleepily tugging on his sleeve.

“Stay,” He mumbles around his thumb, and that’s all the convincing Louis could ever need.   

* * *

 

The next morning, Harry's fever is broken. Louis has tried approximately four times to go put the kettle on for tea, but Harry had gotten so fussy at the thought of being left alone that Louis gives up and stays in bed with him. The TV is playing a baking program softly in the background, and Louis has got Harry in his lap, rocking him gently back and forth as Harry stares up at him with wide eyes. Pup is still cradled in his lap; he hasn't let go of her since they arrived in Lisburn.

"Gonna have to get up soon, honey," Louis reminds him gently. "Your tummy needs food." 

Harry just blinks sweetly, silently telling him, _"But Dada, cuddling is so much more fun than food."_

In the end, Harry gets a few more minutes of cuddles before Louis carries him into the kitchen and sets him on a chair. He busies himself with making up some bland oatmeal as Harry watches him curiously. He finds himself humming quietly as he sets the pot on the hob and pours the oats in. 

It's an old song - one that Harry will remember as Louis' lullaby for him back in the early days. "Dada?" He says around his thumb, Pup clutched tightly in his fist. Louis can tell that he's asking him to sing outright instead of just humming, so he does. He settles Harry on his lap, and sings the familiar song quietly in his ear. The world goes gentle and quiet, and it feels like everything suddenly revolves around this moment.

Louis sings until Harry's grinning, dimple popping in his cheek, then he plants a tender kiss to his forehead. "Lovebug," He murmurs affectionately, rubbing his back. 

The timer for the oatmeal goes off, and Louis extricates himself from Harry, then hurries to pour it into a bowl, sprinkling a bit of brown sugar and cinnamon over the top. He carries the steaming bowl to the table, and starts to coax spoonfuls of it into Harry's mouth - provided that he blows on each bite first. Harry gets stubborn halfway through, though, and refuses to eat any more until he's back in Louis' lap; Louis is more than happy to oblige. 

He spends the rest of the day holding Harry and rocking him gently, luxuriating in the feeling of just being near him. This impromptu getaway seems to be exactly what Harry needed to shake his illness, because he perks up back to almost normal as the day goes on. It's late by the time "Dada" slips back into "Daddy", and finally back to "Lou". 

"Lou," Harry yawns, lying on Louis' chest. The moon reflects silver shards of light onto his curls.

Louis smiles sleepily and tangles his hands in Harry's hair. "Baby." 

"Can't believe we escaped again. It's been years since we did that," Harry sighs; he looks happy, but there's a wistful look in his eyes. Just like Louis, he yearns for easier days, too.

Louis trails his hand gently down Harry's spine. "I know. Can't believe we got away with it."

Harry arches a suspicious eyebrow at him. "You didn't check your phone yet, did you?"

Louis laughs, but shakes his head. "Nope." Harry gives him teasingly disdainful look, and Louis rolls his eyes, grinning. "Hey, I was a little busy, wasn't I?"

Harry nuzzles into the crook of Louis' neck at that, humming happily. "Jesus -- I love you so much. You told me you'd make it better, and you did. I wonder how you always do that."

Louis kisses his fingertips softly. "Can't give away _all_ my secrets, can I?"

Harry giggles, then the bedroom lapses into a peaceful silence for a moment.

"Will you sing to me again?" He finally whispers after a while. "Like earlier?"

Louis' heart almost hurts with how much he loves this sweet, perfect creature. All he ever wants to do is make Harry happy, so he clears his throat and sits up a little. 

"Of course, baby. Anything."  

**Author's Note:**

> hey, thanks for reading this far! hope you liked this! short but very, very sweet :-) leave me a comment/kudos if you enjoyed reading this, and I'm sure I'll be back soon with more writing. if you want to see me write a certain prompt, feel free to leave a comment below! be nice, be good :-)


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